Supply and Demand
by Vicktionary
Summary: Sometimes Medic cannot be trusted with his responsibilities, so Heavy comes in to help-out and more or less becomes his second-in-command. TF2 hilarity ensues. Just a drabble with no particular plot in mind. Work-in-progress.
1. Everything in Order

It surprised Heavy how unsanitary Medic's working conditions could be. Sure, there's only so many wounded bodies you can heal without getting splattered with blood yourself, but even outside of the battlefield, everything just looked like it needed a good clean. It was almost as if somebody had snuck into the room while Medic was out (presumably enemy Spy) and made it their one life's ambition to gloss each and every thing in said room with a healthy hint of blood.

Being the massive tank of a man that he was, Heavy found himself spending the most of his time pre and post battle in this very room with Medic. Before long, he found himself becoming familiar with the organised mess and chaos that Medic liked to claim was perfectly neat and tidy.

He knew where he kept his files, and in what way he liked to organise them- which he discovered was chronologically rather than alphabetically. He knew that the fridge before the operation table was for anything but food (which Engi had found out the hard way). That was where he kept his recently stolen (or persuasively donated, as Medic would say) organs fresh. The fridge that actually contained food was kept a little further back, where he also kept his bird-food for the doves.

He even knew where Archimedes liked to watch Medic's work from.

This was also how Heavy became the team's golden retriever every time they needed something from Medic's room. He didn't like it, but when they previously tried to get Medic himself to retrieve something, he would always get sidetracked along the way. He'd be asked to go in and get another health pack then he'd catch sight of his works-in-progress and he was unheard of again for hours. That was also the story of how Spy was sent into the doctor's room to see if he had died. Spy wasn't sure if he was more aggravated by the fact that Medic had completely forgotten their request or that Medic wasn't dead. At least then he'd have a good excuse for disappearing for the entire day.

"Oh, Spy! Guten Abend, vhat brings you here?"

"Where have you _been_, Docteur? It has been _hours_. Your team needs you!"

"Hours? What is this nonsense! You all know ver to find me."

"You mean to tell me that you have forgotten that we requested your help more than 3 hours ago?"

Medic stilled in his activities. _Oh__h __Gott__verdammt__._

Spy continued with clipped tones. "And do you also mean to tell me that you are not in-fact, dead?"

Slowly, the German turned to face the other with rueful grin. "It appears that I am guilty as charged."

The Frenchie pressed his palm hard against his eyes. "How is that I am working with such incompetent imbeciles?"

To make matters more difficult, Medic simply didn't trust anybody else to go rummaging through his things. However, that wasn't so unreasonable a request ever since Scout and Soldier decided to play a game of 'Will It Blend?' with his possessions. The answer was, yes, it did blend. Brain specimens did indeed blend. Rather well, in-fact. But for whatever reason at the time, Soldier thought it a good idea to throw in a solid _u__bercharged_ brick into the mix.

His justification at the time, as Scout reported, was "_We need to make this manlier! Fit for an army of men in battle!_". Of course, Scout's "_Go go go!_" did little to suppress the imminent disaster. What happened next was left best to the imagination. Medic could never speak of it again without becoming livid. Needless to say, there were repercussions. The German demanded that the two should be on cleaning-duty for the rest of the month. Miss Pauling took away one of Soldier's heads. And Scout earned the dirtiest look from Miss Pauling. Ever. Granted, she was still giving him attention but Scout wanted the kind of attention that had her hanging from his readily flexed arm.

Finally, they all decided and agreed that Heavy, best-buds with the Medic, should be the one responsible for retrieving needed items. As Spy put it, "_That man is so simple-minded that nothing could possibly deter his focus_". Heavy was about to remark that it was the nicest thing he'd ever said about him. Then Spy continued, "_Are you really suggesting that this thick-headed ruffian is __actually__ capable of housing two thoughts at once?_". He should have known better, really.

So with that decided, Medic had then appointed a specific day for him to teach Heavy the complexities of his filing and storage system. He showed him where emergency supplies were kept, what not to touch, what under any circumstance NOT to touch and how to properly handle his surgical tools and how to supply power-ups. It took a while to remember and some errors were made here and there, but eventually Heavy found himself as familiar with Medic's liar like the back of his extremely large paw of a hand.

"What you want?"

"I want my head back!"

"I'm sure it'll come back in no time, buddy. I'm pretty sure Heavy was talkin' to me, though."

"Nobody touches my heads..."

Engi spared him a pitiful glance.

"We don't have much time." The Russian reminded him. "What do you need?"

"I'm gonna need you to pop in a good amount of health packs on this tray. Gotta stock up the spencer! Also, pop in a few vials of whiskey if you got any. Demo'll show up later asking for some, I just know it."

Heavy frowned at the last request, though without much surprise. "No whiskey." A short pause. "But vodka, I have."

"That'll do!"

But before Heavy could take and supply the demand, Pyro came rushing towards them with an air of urgency. Just for a brief moment, Heavy considered very slowly backing away. As much as Engi and Medic had tried to convince him otherwise, he would always see Pyro as a thing to avoid at all cost. Whatever the matter, Heavy did his best to keep his stone features from betraying any tell-tale signs of fear.

When Pyro finally made his way to the two, he stopped just before Heavy and handed him his own tray.

"Mmph mmph mmph!"

The Russian arched a high brow. "Do not understand man in full mask." He tried to look at the Texan for some clarification.

And he obliged. "Whadya need, pal?"

The arsonist continued making muffled noises at Engi, every so often making wide gestures with his arms, Engi nodding his head in understanding every now and then. This continued for a few minutes before Heavy nudged the saner of the two.

"Says he wants three band-aids, some ammo canteens and to take this balloon to the Doc. He says Medic will understand."

Heavy was at loss for words. Here they were, three men (possibly?), trained and perfected in the arts of killing- and there he was holding a deflated balloonicorn in his hands. Once again, he looked towards Engi, unsure and needing the confirmation. Was this seriously serious?

But all he received in return was an equally puzzled shrug. "I don't ask too many questions."

A sigh. "Fine. Heavy be back in ten minutes."

The last thing he heard as he left them was Pyro clapping his hands in glee.


	2. Bad News

When Heavy made it back into Medic's office to supply his comrades' stocks, the doctor had just completed his tinkering with a rather large sized liver. It also appeared he had company. Demo was sat on the operation table, a deep gash in his side and a fresh needle sticking out from his neck.

"'Eeeey! How goes it, Rasputin?"

Heavy cast an unimpressed look towards Medic, who in return shrugged loosely. "I don't know if he's hallucinating." He tried waving a hand in-front of Demo's glazed expression but received no immediate or outward response.

"Where do you think you are, Demo?" Medic tried again.

"Let's see..." The Scot took a careful look at his surroundings. Blood. Blood everywhere. "Oh, is that mine?"

"As a matter of fact, yes!" A hearty chuckle. "That _is_ your blood!"

"Can I have my liver back now?"

"Just a little longer." Medic tossed it back down onto his medical tray with all the care and grace of a sedated bull. "I need to brush the dust off it first."

"Say, Doc... Why does my ribcage have wings?"

"Archimedes- NO!"

"Does that mean I can fly now?" Demo sounded hopeful.

"Hey, Doc!" Heavy called out to get his attention. Medic begrudgingly turned to face him after waving Archimedes off and out of Demo's thoracic cavity.

"Vat is it?" Finally came Medic's impatient reply.

Heavy simply shoved the deflated balloonicorn into Medic's bloodied arms. "Pyro say you know what to do with this."

"Don't touch that yet!" Medic hissed as Demo tried to reach out for his own liver. Couldn't leave that man alone for a second, could he? It was too hard to share a conversation like this. "Demo, you will just have to wait a little bit longer. I need to fix this balloon first."

"I want ta goooo!" Demo wailed, trying to push his weight off the table to get onto his feet.

"How many times do I have to tell you?_ Beweg nicht_! Do you want your organs to fall out again? Have you not learned your lesson?"

The Russian trudged on past the squabbling duo. Time was ticking and he couldn't afford to have the team fail just because Demo didn't know how to keep still in the midst of surgery. Hastily, he shoved the supply boxes on the shelves aside as he grabbed a good handful of first-aid tools and ammo. By this point, it had become so routine that he needn't even look to see what his hand was taking. If it felt cold, it was bullet. If it felt soft, it was bandage. Anything else was just a surprise bonus for the rest of his team-mates. And while he hadn't forgotten, he filled and corked a couple vials of vodka that could probably ignite the insides of a sensible drinker. Demo was the only other person Heavy knew that appreciated his family's home-brewed brand.

Balancing the two stacked trays on one of his arms, he made sure to ignore whatever Medic and Demo were engaging in on the way back out. Engi was already halfway done upgrading his sentry when Heavy re-made an appearance. Pyro instantly became alert.

"Howdy, partner!"

A shatter sounded off from behind him. Engi cocked his head curiously, "Everything alright in there?"

"Medic is putting liver back into Demo."

Heavy's attention was grabbed again when Pyro started bouncing on the spot in-front of him, looking as if he was expecting something more.

"Fella wants his balloon back." Engi translated once more.

"Oh... Heavy forget. Sorry." The Russian tried to peer back into the room, yelling for the Medic's attention.

When the German finally did come out, his glasses were askew and his hair looked frazzled. "Vat is it, Heavy? I do not have all day to be-" His scolding was interrupted as Heavy nudged him and motioned towards the waiting Pyro. Medic then proceeded to look a little overwhelmed and panicked.

"Oh, Pyro... Pardon me, I did not see you zhere." He re-adjusted his glasses and his demeanour changed, his stance carrying everything of a surgeon about to deliver some bad news to a soon-to-be grieving family. Engi's brows furrowed in anticipation.

"Your balloon has..." Medic paused hesitantly, his eyes trying to search Pyro for any signs of understanding, in the hopes that he wouldn't have to say it out loud.

"Oh no..." The Texan knew where this was going and quickly, reached out to plant a pre-emptive but supportive hand on Pyro's shoulder. Unfortunately for both Medic and Engi, Pyro seemed oblivious, not catching on. Heavy only started feeling concerned.

"Hudda?"

Medic lowered his head sadly. The next thing he did was present the deflated balloonicorn to Pyro, a gaping hole at its back.

"Zhere vas nothing I could do." Said the German regretfully. "I'm so sorry."

A thick silence fell among the men as they stood there, waiting for the grieving response they knew would come. They all started expecting the worst when Pyro failed to even give any form of a reaction.

"You okay, Pyro?" Engi gave a friendly shake.

Finally, Pyro delicately took the remains of his inflated companion from Medic's arms. He glanced up again at Medic, as if hoping to be told this was all just a bad dream. Medic painfully and slowly shook his head again, not quite daring to meet Pyro's imploring gaze.

Engi opened his mouth to say something, but thought against it when he saw Pyro's shoulders sag in defeat. When Pyro turned his heel to the others to leave, all of them felt too awkward and at loss of what to do to stop him, or at least try to follow him.

"Is just balloon, right?" Heavy finally plucked up the courage to slice through the silence when Pyro was out of ear-shot, trying to shrug the situation off. This promptly earned him a glare from Medic and a disapproving shake of the head from Engi.

"Perhaps to you. But zhat balloon is like his family-pet."

"Y'all think he's gonna be alright for battle?"

"Ach, I hope so."

Before any of them could make further comments on this predicament, the tumbling of objects and boxes quickly drew all their attention to what was behind them.

"I tried to stich m'self back up." Said a visibly drained Demo. "Now... I'm no doctor but is my kidney meant to be at the front?"

Medic groaned. "I told you _not_ to move..."


	3. The Spy Among Us

On the brighter side of things, Medic had managed to re-arrange Demo's vital organs and stitch him back up more or less in time for the battle. And this time, with the bonus of a better functioning (albeit just as scarred) liver. So after playing Tetris with Demo's innards and a few saps of his Medigun, the Scot was red hot and good to go. Medic briefly pondered if the Scot would still be alive if it wasn't for his medical aid and peculiar talents. There's only so long a raging alcoholic lacking depth perception with access to explosives could really live for. Clearly, he noted, this mattered little to Demo. And should Demo ever win an award, it would be of the Darwin persuasion.

"MEEEEDIIIIC!"

This was the third time he had been called for so he hurriedly brought Heavy back to decent health before he rushed to the source of the voice, Medigun at the ready.

"Coming, my friend! _Ich komme sofort_!"

"Hurry! I don't think I can hang on fer much longer!"

He did look visibly weakened, haunched at the back as he doubled over in pain, legs starting to give way to its body's weight. Physically, he bore all the resemblance of an injured being. However, when he finally got there, he noticed the lack of something very important and rather suspicious.

Where was the blood?

Unfortunately, when that reailsation finally reached the part of his brain that deduced suspicious situations, it was already too late to run or jerk away.

A fatally familiar mist started radiating from the figure that was the injured Demo.

"Shpy!" Were the German's last words from his mouth as a stab sliced neatly past the flesh of his back.

The enemy Spy cloaked before anybody could see him. The Medic's parting words, however, did spark a chain reaction. First, it was Heavy to hear his cry and to see his limp and lifeless body on the floor.

"Medic!" A touch of concern braced his features- could he have stopped this from happening? Then his next instinct was to deploy his minigun in the general area where his fallen team-mate lay.

"We have Spy among us! SPY!" He roared out to any neighbouring team-members when his tactic failed to catch the treacherous master of disguise.

The next to catch wind of this was their real Demo. "Oh ye gobsheit!" He cursed out in his drunken sway about the battlefield, shooting out a few grenades about him to see if it came into contact with anything invisible. While he also failed to suss out the Spy, he did manage to land a few blows on the approaching infantry. This was enough to distract his inebriated mind into feeling a sense of victory.

"HA-ha! I've got tew tickets t' the gun-show and I'm not givin' 'em te ya!"

Engi, watching all this from afar, shook his head. What _was_ this gun-show he was always talking about? Who even went to one? He suspected that maybe, it was Soldier by-chance, who went to these supposed gun-shows. Yet just as this train of thought started going anywhere, his attention was immediately drawn to the beeping of his sentry alerting him something was wrong. He wasn't mistaken when the next thing he noticed was a sapper beneath it.

"Spy 'round here!"

Quickly, he brought out his shotgun, shooting in blind directions, his line of gaze darting from side to side. Damnit, he knew he was close. He had to be.

Just as he was about to surrender all hope, a jar came raining down from the sky, splashing and staining what was around it in a dark yellow. A cloud of smoke came steaming out of a drenched silhouette, along with a string of French curses.

"Theeere you are!" A grin stretched his lips, his natural instincts taking care of the rest as he cocked his shotgun and shot the bugger a couple times in the head. He didn't even care that he had just come into contact with Sniper's kidney-filtered excretions.

"I owe you one, buddy!" He waved up to the marksman.

The Aussie tipped his hat in return. "Just anotha day saved by the use of piss!"

"Ah, gut! You got him." The newly re-spawned and fresh from the locker room Medic marvelled at the ground where the dead Spy found his final moments. The Texan hadn't wasted another breath before he went back to repairing his damaged sentry, nor did Medic in patching Engi up a little.

"We owe the thanks to Sniper."

"Ach, ja. I see zhat." He nodded at the puddle of Jarate. "Well. I best be off. Gut luck, mein Freund!" He bid Engi a goodbye as he ran off to seek out his injured team-mates, the Texan waving at his retreating figure. Before he could turn all his attention back to his sentry, however, Scout came by to pay a visit.

"'Ey, heads up! Their Engi's about to build a 'porter. Y'know, their Spy got our team three times already now."

A grunt. "Damn Frenchie was about to get the best of me before Sniper intervened."

"Shouldn't that freak be in charge of not letting stuff like this happen?"

_Oh yeah. Pyro_. Engi had completely forgotten to check-up on him before the battle started, occupied with upgrading his own constructions. But what he wanted to know before, he knew now. Pyro wasn't holding up very well with the loss of his beloved balloon so his attention had been less than sub-par.

"Aw, shucks. It's no wonder..."

Scout, not aware of the events that took place prior, stared at him in confusion after Engi trailed off with that vague a sentence.

"Whatever. I'm bailing. I gotta go. Just tell him to step up his game, alright?"

The Bostonian's speedy departure was hardly noticed as Engi stared off into the distance, the noise of his wrench hitting cold metal easing him into deep thought. "How can I fix this?"


	4. The Plan of Mann

"We have to do something about this." Engi told Medic at the end of the day.

"Just... hold still."

"Poor fella clearly can't go on like this."

"Mm-hmm."

"I tried keepin' an eye on him today. Sure wasn't pretty. I died a lot."

"Uh-huh..."

"Are you listening to anything I'm saying?"

Medic finally pulled his head out from Engi's exposed rib-cage and fixed him a pointed look. "I'm trying to fish sentry bullets and shrapnel out of your lungs. What do _you_ think?"

A sheepish chuckle. "Right right, my apologies."

"Could you stop talking for just one minute? It's hard to keep a steady hand on your lungs when your diaphragm keeps moving like zhat."

And so Engi obliged, keeping his flapper shut till Medic stitched him back-up with the rays from his Medigun. The sound of Medic snapping off his stained gloves followed suit, along with a long and satisfied sigh.

"Zhere we go. _All _besser! Now... vhat were you saying, my friend?"

But the Texan was interrupted again, this time by Heavy barging into the room with a big crate of something or the other in his arms.

"These are heads Demo took from day. He say you can have for experiment."

"Oh, _wunderbar_!" The German rubbed his hands together gleefully, carrying the spirit of a Christmas cheer come early. "Das ist just what I needed!"

"You say that about every part of human."

"There can never be too many spare organs!"

"Uh... Actually," Engi arched a brow and surveyed the room as if to prove a point. The man was shrouded in nothing else _but_ 'donated' organs. But when his gaze got back in line with Medic's inquisitive one, he just grinned and waved it off. "You know what, sure. What the hell."

Probably best not to say anything.

"Anyway, I was saying..." He tried to get back to the point. "Pyro's not holdin' up so good."

"Oh, yes. Of course! How could I forget?"

Engi had to bite his tongue again. He knew damn well why he would so easily forget.

"Yes, how is he doing?" Medic pressed on.

"Well... How to put this shortly?" Out of habit, Engi started tapping the wrench in his hand as he busied himself with thought. "How many times were stabbed in the back by a Spy today?"

"Eleven."

"Twenty two!" Was Heavy's indignant response from the distance. "I start to look like pin-cushion!"

The Texan made a 'voila' gesture with his hand. "There you go."

The German's brows furrowed into a line of concern. Had it been anyone else, he would have told them to just get over it. After-all, better a helium balloon than their life (even though that was pretty much renewable here in their team). He knew better, however. Pyro worked differently, and Medic needn't deduce that from any form of routine psych evaluation.

"Unfortunately his balloon has been damaged beyond repair. My Medigun only works on organic flesh."

Suddenly, his eyes brightened with an idea.

Engi nipped it in the bud. "We aren't making Pyro a balloon out of human skin, Doc."

The German seemed affronted by his decline. "Well, why not?"

"Cause he ain't gonna like something that looks like a hairy containment of baby batter!"

Heavy looked towards Medic with an air of confusion- he did not understand this overly fanciful analogy. When Engi motioned downwards and towards the general area of his lap, it clicked in the Russian's head and he chuckled.

"Da, Heavy get it now..."

Medic scoffed. "It was still a gut idea..." He muttered to himself.

"Look, if we plan to make the guy a replacement, it needs to be bright, colourful and pretty. Human skin just ain't gonna cut it, no matter how much you try to dress it up."

"Fine. Do _you_ have any ideas?" The doctor shot his team-mate a deadpan glare. "And before you say anything, ve are not making it out of steel."

Engi reflected his glare with a scowl. "Why the hell not? Steel means it's durable and strong. Means it can take a beating."

"Ja, but zhen how is it going to float like a balloon? Last time I checked, steel was still very heavy."

"What?"

"No, Heavy, not _you_. I meant the adjective!"

"So you think it's more acceptable for his balloon to look like a guy's wrinkly baby makers?"

"Oh- mein Gott! Would you just say it? You are not 12 any more and we are all adults here. They are testicles! _Testicles_!"

"That don't make 'em any more appealin'!"

"STOP!"

A loud slam. The room vibrated a little.

Heavy had had enough of their childish squabbling. He couldn't believe that it was actually up to him to act like the grown-up.

"The answer is simple. We no use man-makers or metal."

Medic scoffed again. "And I suppose _you_ have a better idea?"

Even Engi looked sceptical. Luckily, his uncertainty in his eyes was masked by his goggles.

The Russian gestured for the two of them to make room on the operating table with a wave of his arm and the two shortly complied- Engi scooting off it and getting back on his feet and Medic sweeping off any residual tissue and bullets onto the floor.

Heavy huddled over and unrolled a piece of paper he had apparently been working on this whole time as they were arguing. When he laid it out in-front of the two, he stamped his stubby finger right in the centre of the sheet.

"This- is what we need."

What followed were the sounds of the other two men marvelling in surprise at what they saw before their eyes.

"Heavy... I had no idea you could draw!"

The man in question frowned. "Where do you think all these paintings in the room come from?"

"Ah... I thought zhey were from your sister."

"I don't _have_ a sister."

An awkward pause. "You should speak vith your mother."

When Heavy tried to get a more elaborate answer out of the doctor, he averted his gaze onto something else.

"I've clearly underestimated your abilities there, pal!" Fortunately, Engi's pleasant surprise served as a temporary distraction. The Texan clasped a friendly hand on the Leviathan's shoulder. "This is some really good stuff. I can't believe I didn't see it before!"

The Russian huffed triumphantly. "So it's settled then. We go with Heavy's plan."


	5. Can't Get No Sleep

The rest of the night was fueled on strong black coffee and sandviches as the trio set to work in compiling a check-list and producing the methodology for executing Heavy's plan. For Engi and Medic, all-nighters were nothing but reminiscent of their days at university, where they spent hour upon hour cramming all the information they could into their brains before the scheduled exam. Over the years, they had both developed different methods in maximising the efficiency of their sleepless nights.

Medic liked to chase his cup of coffee with a couple of caffeine pills, just for the extra kick. Every so often after each passing hour, his watch would remind him to down a few glasses of water to keep himself hydrated. He would also impose this habit on the other two, claiming that dehydration was the accomplice of fatigue. Heavy found himself visiting the men's room much more frequently that evening.

Engi, however, had taken to the much simpler habit of biting straight into a lemon wedge and sucking on it for a good 10 seconds.

"Whoo! It sure jolts you back to life!" He would say, shaking his head and body as if he had been jolted with a shock. But Heavy was not so convinced.

There would be moments where they would stop for a 15 minute recess, although these breaks often turned into them sharing what they had come up with.

"I gotta ask this, Heavy." Engi scratched the back of his neck anxiously. "But just how sure are you that we can pull this off?"

Heavy glazed over as he mulled the question in his head.

After a painful drag of a 30 second silence, Engi pressed on. "Are you even sure this can be done?"

"No. no, no-" Medic shook his hand at the air as if to ward away a bad spirit. "This is not the time to be pessimistic, mein Freund! What good will it do any of us to doubt our comrade?"

"Woulda done Soldier a hella lot good if he doubted himself before chewin' up your blender with a brick."

Heavy gave him a glare, mouthing an emphatic "NO". This was not a wise topic to bring up in-front of the German.

"I'm just sayin'."

Luckily, Medic was too caught up in his speech. "For centuries, people have always doubted the greatest minds as they were about to uncover something truly earth-shattering. Und why did they doubt them? Simply because they were _told_ it couldn't be done! That it couldn't be true!"

He smacked his hands down onto the table again in-front of Engi.

"Think back and remember what people said about Da Vinci's flying machine. For the longest time it was deemed impossible! Flying is only for the birds!" He flared this statement by releasing a flock of doves from their cage, sending the white minions to fly off dramatically. "But now... Man has taken to the skies!"

"Yeah, we're definitely not talking 'bout Heavy anymore."

"He does this all the time." He waved it off, continuing with his notes like Medic was white noise.

"And what did people say when I told them I could separate the human heart from the body without any consequences? What did they say when-"

"Alright, alright! I get your point!" The man held his hands up in defeat, hoping to be spared of another rant. "Let's just get back to working..."

A couple of hours later and the Russian was having a hard time keeping up with the rest. He wasn't quite as accustomed to sacrificing a good night's sleep for the sake of a task's completion and as the hours ticked away, this was becoming increasingly evident. Finally, by 3:30am, he had fallen asleep where he sat at the table.

"Want me to wake him or should I?" The Texan asked upon noticing this.

The German tutted to himself. "It's no use. We've already woken him up 5 times now. Just let him sleep. I can't have him half-awake tomorrow."

So after some rummaging, Medic found a clean blanket and draped it over the sleeping giant. It required some assistance but with Engi's help, they both managed to lift the Russian's head long enough to push a cushion underneath it. Archimedes, active as always, found purchase on Heavy's bald head as a temporary nesting ground.

"You wouldn't think to say it but... He sure is heavier than he looks."

"Mm, yes. Just don't say that in-front of him." A quick glance just to check he was still asleep. "He gets upset enough when Shpy makes comments about his veight."

When Heavy awoke, it was with a stiff and sore neck. Medic gave him a gentle nudge when the clock struck 7.

"You can probably catch a quick nap in ze comfort of your bed if you want." He murmured, "You still have some time."

"Oh no..." Heavy groaned in response, burying his tired and sunken face into his palm. "Heavy falled asleep?"

"Fell." He couldn't help but correct. "But yes, you did. Engineer joined you an hour later." He briefly indicated to the Texan, who was face-down in papers of work, snoring softly. "I tried to tell him a lemon could only do so much but of course, nobody listens."

Heavy had no idea how Medic did it. The lack of sleep simply didn't show on the German. He was still upright on his feet and looking sharp as ever; hair remaining perfectly kempt and his shoulders pulled back in good posture.

"I no mean to fall asleep. I can work now. What else can I do?" He tried to make up for his premature collapse but Medic simply wouldn't have it. Before he could get another word out, his team-mate was ushering him out the door. "Go," Medic urged, "I want you in top condition on the field. Danke for your help, Heavy. Schveet dreams!"

So after some hours of caught-up sleep and some hours of incessant warring, the three met up together again in Medic's office.

"I want to warn you all. Zhis vill not be easy."

"Heavy fear no man. This is not problem."

"It vill be dangerous."

"You're tellin' us that now? Don't wanna be the one to remind you, Doc, but we kill for a livin'."

Medic's twitch of the brow betrayed his attempts to suppress his irritability. "You need not remind me, Engi. I am well aware of that. But I say that this is especially dangerous because we have not been trained to do this. And-" He held a finger up to silence the next thing Engi wanted to say. "After some calculations and thinking time, I do not think we can do this by ourselves."

"Are you sayin' that we shouldn't do this?"

"_Net_! Heavy did not lose sleep over nothing. We are doing this."

"Yeah, if you wanna cut this plan loose, you're the one who'll have to tell Pyro."

Another twitch of his eyebrow. Then he slammed his hands on the desk. "Silence! Let me finish!"

He recomposed himself with a shakey sigh, re-adjusting his glasses. "We are still doing this. It would be foolish not to. After-all, we need Pyro to be focused, he is an important part of our team."

"Then what is doctor's point?"

"My point is, Heavy, that we need all the help we can get." When Heavy's expression remained confused, he re-phrased. "We need the help of our fellow team-mates to make zhis happen."

A dawning silence fell upon them. Heavy and Engi exchanged apprehensive glances.

"So who wants to be the one to convince the rest of the team?"


	6. Terms of Agreement

So a meeting was called, albeit in quite short notice. There were no details included in the summoning, but everybody found out through one way or another. However, when the team reassembled on that very day, they eventually realised that one of their members was missing.

"Hey, Where's Pyro?"

"Yeah, are we waitin' up for him or something?"

"Pyro won't be joining us today." Medic informed them.

"Y'know, that's actually kind of a relief."

Engi and Medic couldn't see this but Heavy was secretly empathising with Scout. It wasn't that Heavy didn't like him, he was just weary of him. The man just seemed to have a particularly short-fuse and his behaviour was rather unpredictable. One moment, you think you're getting along, the next he's coming at you with his axe. It was just too difficult to keep up with his erratic patterns.

"Is he dead?" Was Soldier's next question on the matter.

"Nup! He's still as alive as me aunt Marta."

Sniper smelled something a little fishy. "Then why isn't the bloke here?"

"We'll get to that. For now just follow me."

"This better be worth my time, Hill-Billy." Spy tested, narrowing his eyes at the Texan. "I have very beautiful women waiting for my in my hotel and I'll be damned if I spend my entire evening cramped in a room with nothing but sweaty deranged men."

"Sniper's favourite!" Scout burst into fits of laughter. "Geddit, Snipes? It's cause you're- OOF!"

The Aussie smirked to himself as he sauntered past the Bostonian's collapsing figure, the black Scot cackling and giving him an approving hi-5 along the way.

"Yeh, mate. Yeh, you did!"

It wasn't entirely professional of him, but it was just too good to pass up the opportunity to kick him where it hurt the most.

The aggressive gesture threw caution to the rest of the team, but most of them just laughed at the young man's expense and walked right on by.

"Medic..." Scout wheezed, clutching at his abdomen.

Engi lead the gang down the narrow corridor of a partially vegetated building and into an old room that looked like it used to be a lecture theatre. One that was possibly for medical students, if the skeleton model in the corner was anything to go by. Of course, it could have also just been Medic's. The shabby room housed more than enough seats to accommodate for their (currently) 8-man team and it had a blackboard that expanded to the far reaches of the ceiling.

It was soon evident that Engi, Heavy and Medic had spent quite some time in this very room before meeting the others. Chalk doodles of various colours and artistic skill littered the blackboard's surface, and it was obvious where Engi had been, the various mathematical equations here and there highlighting his past presence.

"So what's all this then?"

"Don't tell me. You're gonna say... 'you'll get to that'." Sniper had become a little curt, having had none of his questions about the meeting and its purpose answered.

"My apologies, partner." Engi offered his best grin. "You'll understand why I keep saying that in a short while."

"Is that me?!" Demo pointed at one of the drawings inscribed on the board that very much resembled a pirate. "Looks nice! Who drew it?"

"All credit of the drawings go to Heavy."

"See, I woulda thought it was his seester!"

"Heavy no _have_ a sister!" The Russian cast a suspicious glance towards his buddy Medic once more, "What have you told these people?!"

The German chuckled nervously. "Genetics... It's such a tricky business."

"Y'all seated?" The Texan called out, and when he received a few grunts in return, assumed that it was time to move forward with the meeting. He perched himself onto a rolling stool, wheeling himself down one end of the massive board.

"As you can see, we already have a plan in mind. Ye ain't here to be discussin' strats, but there will be some room for that! Just-"

"_Later_, we get it!" The marksman waved his arm up in the air as if to speed the process along. He had heard the word too many times in the space of one hour.

"Alright, moving on." Engi tip-toed around his grumpy comrade.

"We're diving y'all up into teams of two. Medic, you're obviously goin' with Heavy. Nobody knows each other better than the two a' ya."

"Ah, das is all but too natural." The German turned to his trusty companion. "Kamerade."

"Da." He flashed a toothy grin and a thumbs-up in return.

"You'll both be following in after my 'porter. If anything happens, Heavy, you signal the rest of us just like we discussed and deploy that gun of yours like there's no tomorra! Medic, you know what to do. I don't have to say it."

"Sasha will not let team down."

Engi wheeled over to the next part of the blackboard to indicate at the next figure. "The next pair is Scout and Soldier."

"Wait, what 'bout you? What'll you be doin'?"

"I'll be smuggling in my 'porter to the enemy base to get the two of you in, but I digress. We'll get to that later. Now, I'm puttin' the two of you together 'cause I know you got a good thing goin' on. But you'll be servin' as a distraction, mostly."

"A distraction?"

"Yes, sir-ree!"

"What do we need a distraction for?"

"I can make a good distraction! I'll do it with my robot hat!" Soldier grinned from ear to ear. "Nobody will ever know."

"We need you two to cause a scene while the rest of us try to sneak behind enemy lines. Try to distract their enemy Scout, especially, the best you can. I also need to bring my 'porter in and Heavy and Medic will handle it from there."

"A scene like what, though? And why don't you just use Spy if you wanna get behind the enemy?"

"Ah, Spy. Yes. That reminds me. You'll be drafted with Sniper."

"Of course I am." The Frenchman couldn't look any more pained.

"Oh, for God's sake. You really couldn't have picked me to be with someone else?"

"I could've, but you two are actually good together, despite what you might think."

"NO." They both said in unison. Then they glared at each other for objecting at the same time, somehow proving Engi's point without meaning to at all.

"Sniper, you'll be keepin' watch over Heavy as he enters the enemy's base. You keep a close eye for his signal, which he'll do if something should go awry."

"How'll I know what the bloody signal is?"

"Heavy, if you'll kindly do a demonstration..."

The Russian nodded, then started shimmying on the spot.

The Aussie's jaw hung open. Scout and Demo burst into another fit of laughter, barely containing their snickers and giggles. Some things were just impossible not to laugh at, and that included the biggest, baddest, manliest man of them all doing a Hawaiian dance in-front of you.

"You can't be serious." Sniper tried to search Engi's face for some reasoning.

"Serious as a heart-attack!"

"But... why?"

"We figured that if Heavy did anything else, it would just arouse too much suspicion. If anyone saw it, they'd immediately know something was up, they'd look where Heavy was signalling to and deduce that it was for Sniper. Do you know what they do with people who are suspicious?"

"BUT..." Medic interjected, "If he does a dance, it will simply confuse the enemy. They won't think to detain him and question him. It has been proven."

"But they _will_ think to shoot him just out of the principle that he's demented." Spy added, clearly unimpressed.

"I like this dance..." Soldier declared and hopped off his seat to join Heavy. "Scout, I have it! To distract the enemy team, we'll both do this dance!"

"Soldier, no." The Bostonian promptly declined. "I ain't doin' that thing with you."

"Oh, you make it sound so wrong and forbidden! What harm did a little dancing ever do to anybody?" Medic waved off. "It does good for the human spirit, ja?"

"No. No, it doesn't." Scout tried to stand his ground. But then Medic started joining the pair in their shimmying. He face-palmed. Hard. Out of all the places he'd expect to find men acting half their age, this place was somehow the last on his list.

"_Oh, mon dieu. Pourquoi moi?_" Spy leaned back in his seat with a dramatic flair, the back of his hand strewn over his eyes. "What have I done to deserve this?"

"A lot of things." Sniper answered easily.

"Now, now, children... No fighting." Engi wagged a finger at them, sensing the peaking tension between the two.

"So if Snipeur's job is to keep watch over the fat-man, why exactly do I have to be there with him?"

"Glad you asked!" The Texan chirped, wheeling himself to another section of the board. With a thin and extendible metal rod, he smacked down on the chalk drawings of the Frenchie. "Snipes is basically there to keep watch and time the whole thing. He'll tell you when you need to leave the nest."

"Is that name really sticking?"

"Yeah, it is!" Scout pumped his fist proudly.

"Okay, but when exactly am I supposed to go in and why?"

"We're gonna need you to go in disguised as enemy Scout and sneak into their locker room. I suppose I don't need ta tell ya not to be seen."

"Do I need to tell you to look both ways before crossing the road?"

"Guess not, no. Anyway, in their locker room, you'll meet their Medic. He'll be there waiting for you and in this situation, he's our friend. So don't back-stab him, ya hear?"

"Why's he on our side?"

"Oh..." Medic's eyes shifted briefly. "Let's just say he owes me one. I kept his beloved Archimedes safe and I still haven't asked for a favour in return yet."

"And what am I supposed to say to this Medic? How will he know it's me?"

"Tell him, 'the bird is the word'. He'll understand."

"And then what? He hands him over a large briefcase filled with crack?" Scout snorted at the clichéd nature of Spy's part of the mission.

"No, but he _will_ hand you a balloon."

"This just keeps getting better, doesn't it?" Spy groaned into his palm.

"It will be in a blast-proof container."

"Wait, why blast-proof?"

"Because Demo will be waiting for you nearby and you'll give it to him."

"Freakin' Demo's passed out again!"

"Wake him up, he needs to hear this."

"Should I do it?" Heavy volunteered.

"I got this." Soldier said with confidence. He loomed over the Scot's unconscious figure, leant into his ear and mumbled something that was inaudible to the rest of the group.

But in lightning speed, the sleeping body jolted awake like it had been shocked. "Bar fight?! WHERE? I'LL SMASH YE'!"

"Just us, pal. Sorry to disappoint."

Demo's features sank and slowly, he reclined into a ball in his seat, hugging his liquor bottle close. "I'm goin' back ta bed."

"Ah, but before you do..." Medic halted him with a note of urgency. "You need to be made aware of one thing."

"Engi make teleporter that go to enemy home. You take. Spy meet you there and hand you box. You take. Plant some sticky boom-boom and fly back here and give box. _We_ take. You understand, da?" Heavy did his best to simplify it the best he could.

"Done."

"Okay. Bye-bye."

"Mm-hmm." And in a split second, he was out again.

"Think he'll remember that?" Medic wasn't very reassured.

"So, just to get things straight... We're putting all of our lives on the line just for the sake of an effing balloon?"

"Well, when you put it that way..."

"This balloon better be made of diamond, s'all I'm sayin'."

"Would it help if I told you this was for the good of one of our team-mates?" Medic tried his hand at persuasion.

Spy remained dispassionate. "No."

"Oh, come on! He lost his balloon-friend this week and it's been really tough on the lil' fella. He simply can't go on without it."

"Then he needs mental help, not ours." Spy scoffed. Heavy couldn't help but chuckle at this, but after a sharp glare from his buddy doctor, choked back the rest of his laughter and averted his gaze sheepishly.

"Come on, guys. You know he'd do the same for you."

"I don't know anything. I can't understand a thing that comes outta his mouth!"

"Look, it can't be much more different than what you do here everyday, anyway!" The German cried with an air of exasperation. "Oh, the rate at which I take hearts out of bodies. If only I could _give_ them right now to my soulless comrades!"

Engi heaved a tired sigh. "Alright, what will it take?"

"I'll do it." Sniper shrugged.

"Whoo! Snipes is in!" The Texan clapped. Demo was already in by default of not being able to protest in his drunken stupor.

"Sign me up, too!" Soldier chimed in.

This brought a smile to Medic's face. "Danke, mein Fruend. Now we just need to convince these two."

Scout and Spy still looked reluctant as ever.

"Come on, Spook. Don't be such a flapjack." Sniper tried to give his rival a good-natured push. But he simply scoffed and turned his head.

"That makes absolutely no sense, bush-man."

"What's your price, fellas?"

"Ha-ha, Spy. You're a whore."

"You are, too, if you can be bought from your reluctance."

"Damnit."

"I'll do it if I get to throw Jarate at Snipeur anytime, anywhere for a whole week."

A chorus of interested 'ooh's' came from the gang of men and all eyes fell on the Aussie, Medic and Engi's stares particularly intense with their attentiveness.

"I'll do it if I get to watch!" Scout tagged along, eliciting another wave of enthused sounds.

"You can't be serious..." Sniper was not impressed. "These are your terms?"

"Do it! Do it!" Scout started chanting, banging his fists on the small lecture table in-front of him, in no time prompting everyone else to join in.

"Who's being the flapjack _now_?" Spy smirked, hugely victorious of turning the tables on the Aussie.

The chanting around the marksman grew louder.

"Yeeah, buddy! Feel that peer pressure!"

"You do it to him all the time, it's only fair!"

"Ja, it's only a little bit of pee afterall. If you think about it, it's mostly vasser."

"Alright, fine! Fine!" He finally gave in with a distressed groan. "God, you bloody bogans. This is what satisfies you at the end of the day, isn't it?"

"Yeee-haw!" Engi called cheerfully, hopping off his sentry to do his farmboy dance. "Boys, we have ourselves a plan!"


	7. Team Spyper

Spy and Sniper were the first to leave the base since the plan relied on the marksman's punctual and initial arrival. So they both set off in his caravan a good couple of hours in advance. Spy didn't like it and saw little point in leaving so early, but they had to stay together as a team so try as he might, he just wasn't getting out of this one.

The van was spacious, but for its purpose as a living unit, was rather cramped. Everything was a tight squeeze and everything was in the wrong place, from his laundry to his garbage. Empty cans of beer littered the carpeted floor, some were crushed and the others seemed to have fallen out of Sniper's hand, presumably when he fell asleep drinking. Spy even found a toothbrush in the cup-holder.

"Honestly, I don't know how you live here. Actually, scratch that. I _do_ know how you live here- poorly. What I don't know is _why_ you choose to live like this."

Sniper cast a side-glare at the masked man sat next to him, his sharp blue eyes just barley peeking out over his orange tinted shades. "It's not so bad."

"Not so bad? You barely have running water."

"I get by just fine."

"What? By bathing in your Jarate?" Spy pulled a grimace of disgust. "And they say the French are bad..."

"Oi, don't bring my whole country into this! One Aussie does not make a nation."

"Why do I have to work with this idiot..." The Frenchman then groaned, sinking into a pathetic pool of defeat in his seat.

"Can it, would ya? Ya agreed to do this on your own terms. I'd stop complaining if I were you."

"But of course you would. Being me is a much better option than being _you_."

Yet Sniper remained unprovoked. "You've already used that line on me. Can't think of new material, ay?"

"You discover the cure for cancer, you don't just say it once. Facts are facts and facts are stated."

"Oh, cancer, yes." He drawled sarcastically in return. "Smooth save."

Spy looked like he was contemplating jumping straight out of the window, tugging at his seatbelt and squirming uncomfortably in his seat. He was in a tin-can of a cage and he desperately wanted out.

"How much longer till we're there?"

"'Bout half an hour."

It wasn't worth taking a sleeping pill for, Spy realised. The drug's effects would simply overstay their visit and linger in his system when he needed it the least. Instead, he settled for shutting his eyes to catch whatever sleep he could, just to make time go faster.

"If you dare wake me, I will kill you."

The marksman simply rolled his eyes and refocussed on the road ahead, eventually ignoring the sounds of Spy snoring in favour of driving safely along the bumpy and rigid path. Not much longer now, he told himself, then they would both be free of each other.

When they reached their destination, Sniper woke the other up with all the care and grace of a bull in a china shop. Spy grunted as the other's sharp and bony elbow connected with his ribs and grumbled something about not messing his Armani suit with his filthy hands.

"We're there, ya sod." He exited the vehicle in-time to avoid Spy's vehement response.

Several minutes later, both men had climbed their way up into an old decrepit building. It was obvious that the place had been abandoned for many years, and would be for just as many more years to come. It was surprising that a bulldozer hadn't been introduced to this particular piece of property yet. With every step they took, the floorboards beneath them would creek and shriek in protest of their weight, threatening to snap and crumble at any moment.

"You could perhaps try being a little more stealth." Spy scoffed, disapproving of the carefree manner in which the Aussie carried himself across the squeaky floor.

He laughed, not so much in good humour but disbelief. "Stealth? There's no-one else out here for miles in every direction, mate."

"We're not mates."

"Please... Wouldn't wanna be, anyway!"

As Spy tried to 'settle' in with his surroundings, Sniper busied himself by preparing his set-up for the next few hours. In true and typical Sniper-fashion, he had stationed his rifle just outside a semi-open window. The dust coating it was so thick that it rendered itself obsolete; barely anything but the sun's setting rays could be seen through it, which made it an ideal hiding place for the marksman. Next to his gun lay several glass jars (some filled and some empty), a large flask of black coffee and a crumpled box of cigarettes with only 3 cancer sticks remaining.

"I'm taking one of these." Spy declared, reaching in for the other's smokes.

"Oi! _No_, you're not!" The Aussie smacked his hand away in time. "I've only got a few left and you have, what? 2 more packs? Piss off!"

The Frenchie hissed much like a displeased cat. "I cannot believe that those idiots actually thought we'd make a good pair."

"You're as surprised as I am." Sniper muttered back as he did a few test-runs with his rifle, making some minor adjustments.

"Exactly how long do I need to stay?"

"'Till Engi gives me his signal."

"Which will take _how_ long?"

"However long it takes for Scout and Soldier to create a big enough distraction so he can sneak in with his machines."

"That's not a real answer."

"Yes, it is." Sniper leaned away from his gun, straightening up and turning to face the other in the eye. "You just don't like it."

Spy scowled when he couldn't think of a suitable comeback, folding his arms over his chest. "Non. What I don't like is your-"

"Oh, save it!" He cut him off before he could finish. The other just _had_ to have the last word. Spy would rather die than let somebody out-wit him. "Look, it's gonna take a while for everyone else to set-up so you may as well sit down and 'ave a cuppa coffee."

"_Coffee?_"

Sniper grabbed one of the two mugs he had brought with him, filled it halfway and then pushed in into his team-mate's gloved hands, the liquid still piping hot and steaming. "Coffee!"

The Frenchie peeked down mysteriously at the dark liquid, examining it. Then he brought it up to his nose to give it a careful sniff.

When Sniper saw this, he was incredulous. "Oh, bloody hell. I didn't poison it, okay? Not everything I do is out to get you."

"You can never be too sure."

"Oh, really?" He snatched the mug out of Spy's hands and downed a good sip (which was rather impressive considering its temperature), gulping the beverage back rather loudly. When he was finished, he wiped his lips with the back of his hand and made a gesture of 'voila!'.

"See?" The drink travelled back to Spy's hands via Sniper express. "Still alive!"

"There are 2 mugs." Spy narrowed his eyes, eyeing the other mug upon this realisation.

Sniper looked at him as if he could not have said dumber words.

"You brought one up especially for me?" He seemed surprised.

"What else was I gonna do? Make you drink out of a doggie bowl?"

This time, the Frenchie kept his mouth shut and finally, at long last, he sat down. The Aussie was visibly surprised with the lack of snarky repartee, but made no complaints about it. Spy always talked too much, to the point where even Scout became more tolerable. It was nice to have him shut up for once. Even better that _he_ was the one responsible for it.


	8. Team Scouldier

"So, have you guys thought of a plan yet?"

Soldier and Scout had spent a good few days being asked nothing but this by Engi and Medic. Each time, they would say that they had a few ideas under development and some more along the way. Day after day, the question would be repeated yet neither of them gave a real answer, nor did they come closer to any real conclusion.

Of course, they didn't let anyone else in on this. Medic was so stressed out right now that asking any more of him would result in an aneurysm.

So, when the due-date finally dawned on them, so did the sinking realisation that they didn't actually _have_ any plans.

It wasn't exactly clear who's fault this was either. Granted, Scout and Soldier would take most of the responsibility for not even trying, but surely Medic and Engi were also to blame for pairing up such a disorganised pair. The word 'planning' was nowhere to be found in Scout's dictionary. The young lad much preferred the approach of taking things as they came. And Soldier was surprisingly (and quite ironically) bad at coming up with strategies that actually worked. On the rare occasions that his plans _did _work, it was merely dumb luck.

"So..." Scout broke the silence in between them as they sat in the locker room on the day of the deadline. "We _kiiinda_ don't have any plans, do we?"

"Affirmative." Soldier confirmed, seated directly across.

"We have no idea what we're actually gonna do to distract the enemy team."

"That is correct."

"We're screwed."

"I say we go in full robot attire!"

"No, that's not gonna work."

"I say we dance!"

"No!" Scout rose to his feet in frustration. "No dancing. Not now, not ever."

"Then what do you propose we do?" Soldier frowned. "At least I had some plans."

"I don't know!" He kicked his locker in frustration, venting a stressed sigh. "But we need to come up with something- fast."

At that very moment, Scout's headset buzzed with static. The young man held it closer against his ear to receive a clearer message.

"Y'all ready? We need you both up and runnin' in about five."

"Yeah, ready as the day I was born!" He responded with an exaggerated, and most likely over-compensating confidence.

"That's a lie." Soldier couldn't help but point out, and Scout quickly shushed him so the other line wouldn't hear it.

"I'll buzz back in when Snipes is ready for you to go. Roger out!"

"Okay, we _really_ need to think of something." Scout turned back around to Soldier, the urgency of the situation finally starting to show through as panic in his eyes.

Soldier, however, was not quite as flustered, barely showing any symptoms of distress. He met the Bostonian's gaze with a pensive look. "I have an idea. But we're gonna need to be quick. How quickly can you run to Medic's room?"

Mere moments later, the two were making their way to the enemy base. Just not quite in the way that most sensible people would. See, most people would've walked or driven a motorised vehicle to their destination. But sensible and Soldier parted ways long before his fifth birthday. Coincidentally, that was also the day that Soldier's mother discovered his affinity for burying himself a trench in his birthday cake. Perhaps his obsession with all things military came from a young and ripe age.

"Put your back into it, son!" The army man urged, smacking his whip repeatedly on Scout and the side of the wheel barrow that he was sitting in. He wasn't there alone, though. Various weapons, drinks and other odd objects accompanied him there in his seat on the cart, throttling along the bumpy and speedy ride.

"I'm doin' my best!" He yelled back, still running on the effects of the Crit-a-Cola that he had guzzled down just a few seconds ago. All that was around them was now but a mere blur, the skyline and the ground nearly undistinguishable from one another.

"Rock! Big rock!" Soldier tried to warn his partner, pointing and bellowing at the top of his lungs. "We're about to-"

_BUMP._

But somehow they had survived the hit without being toppled over.

"MILK!" Soldier clutched at his eye. "Milk in my eye! IN MY EYE!"

"Sorry! Couldn't afford to stop!"

"They're going to shoot crit-bullets IN MY EYE!"

"Oh, quit cryin'. It'll wear off in no time!"

"I'm crying milky tears!"

Scout would have said that it was just milk, but after sitting down with Medic to discuss its uses and ingredients, he knew he would be lying. It was probably best that Soldier didn't know what was used to create his Mad Milk.

"Have you started charging it yet?!"

Soldier looked down at the Medigun he was clutching onto. "Ubercharge at 44%!"

"That's not even close! We can't get there till it's on at least 97%!"

"It'll be fully charged by the time we get there, I promise!"

"I'm really countin' on you there!"

True to Soldier's word, the ubercharge was full by the time the two arrived. Along the way, he had tried various methods of speeding up the rate of charge. He knew that the ubercharge would charge faster if it was repairing injury, so he tried administering a healthy and standard dose of hurt to his fellow team-mate. Then he realised it probably wasn't the best idea to get Scout killed while he was 'driving'.

His other method, which Scout didn't like too much, was to try and charge up one of the few objects that were sitting in the cart with him. When that didn't make it go any faster, he picked up a solid brick and smushed it against the Medigun repeatedly.

"You're gonna break it!"

"Nonsense! Bricks are made of steel!"

"No, they're not!"

"Oh, aren't they?"

Scout sighed. "We're here." He buzzed over to Engi, who then set right away to work to inform the rest of the team.

"The brick is ready!"

"Okay, on the count of three, I want you to aim it at that window right over there."

Soldier hauled himself off the cart and retrieved his rocket launcher from the barrel. "What do we do after that?"

"You're gonna keep the rest of the enemy team occupied. I'm gonna smoke out their Scout to make sure he doesn't run-in to our Spy. You still sure you can ubercharge yourself?"

"If we can do it to a brick, we can do it on ourselves!" Were Soldier's inspiring words. "And I see Medic do it all the time."

"That makes more sense. Meet you back in here in 15 minutes."


	9. Layin' Bricks

_Thank you all for the kind reviews, Dr. Hmm and Miss Marvelous13! :) Just the fact that you enjoy it so much really keeps me going._

* * *

The day had gone by rather peacefully for Team RED. But RED Medic knew better than to allow himself to be lulled into a false sense of security. BLU Medic had contacted him just yesterday via Archimedes-Express. The white bird flew into his window with a note attached to his leg, and this time the flying companion had been splattered with a sprinkle of blue paint to tell the twin Archimedi apart.

"Oh, Archimedes! So lovely to see you!" He greeted the dove, holding out his hand so it could perch on his gloved finger. "I see you come bearing gifts."

"Is other Medic's bird, da?" Heavy's voice came from behind him, wandering over to observe. "Why is it here?"

"I get the feeling I already know..." The German muttered cryptically, taking the parchment from Archimedes' leg. "Here, my darling, help yourself to some bird-feed before you go back."

Archimedes was happy to comply, pecking away vigorously at the bird-feeding station. The other Archimedes joined shortly and the two exchanged coos back and forth.

"What does note say?"

Before Heavy could read it for himself, Medic had incinerated it with one of his Bunsen burners, destroying the evidence of it ever being there.

"What you do that for?!"

"Nobody else can see this. It was in German, anyway. You would not have understood. But the bare skeleton of it is, BLU Medic has come back for that favour I owe him."

"For when they took care of your lost bird?"

"Exactly." The doctor ripped off a piece of paper from his notebook and sprawled a message back in his native tongue. "Now, Heavy, would you hand me the bandages?"

The Russian looked a little puzzled by the request but waddled on his way to retrieve some from the examination table. When he came back, Medic snatched it swiftly out of his hands with an emphatic but brisk 'Danke!'.

"Is somebody hurt?" Heavy's eyes followed and travelled with Medic's walking one.

"Nooo, no... Not at all." He reassured. He stopped at the bird-feed station, tutting to get Archimedes' attention. "Have you had your fill, mein Schatz?"

The white bird's head tilted in various angles, eyeing the familiar form before him with attentive curiosity.

"It's time to go back, okay?" He cooed with affection, stroking the dove with the back of his index finger. When Archimedes hopped onto said finger, the German was delighted. "Good boy! Good boy..."

"You will never love your children as much as that bird." The Russian muttered to himself as he watched.

"What was that, Heavy?"

"Nothing. I just say is nice weather."

"Is it? Oh, ja. It's lovely today, isn't it? So sunny." Medic remarked, completely oblivious to Heavy's one-man running commentary. He delicately attached his responding note onto Archimedes' leg with the bandages, and with a gentle push, set the dove on its merry way back to its rightful owner.

"Auf Wiedersehen! Come back again soon!" He waved goodbye to the bird's vanishing form, clutching at his chest with the same emotional heartache a mother would when sending her kids off to college. "Oh, they grow up so fast, don't they?"

Heavy looked rather estranged. "Bird was only here for 5 minute."

Medic tutted in obvious disagreement with his perspective. "You are so emotionally distant, you Russians..."

He received a displeased glare from his Eastern European comrade in return for that remark, to which he laughed off with forced casualness.

"Stereotypes, eh? We all use it. Some are fake... Some are true."

"We Russians know love!" Heavy pointed a blunt and chubby finger at him. "I tuck my Sasha into bed every night and make sure she sleep safe and sound, away from bad guy."

This time it was Medic's turn to be estranged, but decided not to stress on the topic any longer. "I apologise, mein Freund. It was nothing but a badly told joke. But this note... There are a few things you need to know."

"Okay, Heavy listen."

"You are not to repeat this to anyone outside zis room, understood?"

"Da. Lips are sealed like gates of Leningrad."

"Okay. _Gut_." Medic pulled himself a seat back at his desk, beckoning his partner over. "It appears they need something from us."

"Is it our intelligence?" Heavy seemed apprehensive.

"No, no, nothing like that." The doctor waved it off. "Even I would not agree to something of that degree. No, what they want is a balloon."

The puzzled look found its way back onto the Russian's face. "Then why not go to toy store?"

Medic chuckled. "I appreciate the logic. But it is no ordinary balloon they want. Zis is no case of neunundneunzig Luftballons."

An awkward pause. "Heavy no understand."

"Nevermind. Now, I'm not entirely sure what the story is myself, but it appears that they want one of Pyro's balloons."

"This make less and less sense the more I listen."

"I know not of their intentions eizher. But I owe their Medic a favour and it is my time to repay it."

* * *

"Brick!"

"OW! It hit me!"

"Frickin' brick, what the hell!"

"Sentry down!"

Fast-forward to the next day, and to the moment of BLU Scout and Soldier's arrival. RED Medic and Heavy had arrived to the scene just in time to see their team-mates evacuating the building. Scout, quick on his feet as ever, was the first to exit the disaster. He only stopped briefly to greet the other two.

"Don't go in there. That brick is goin' crazy. Flyin' all over the place!"

"Yes... It does look like quite a problem." Medic provided his commentary, eyebrows furrowing with concern for his team's safety.

"Understatement of the frickin' century, that is."

"_You're_ the understatement of the frickin' century!" An exact replica of Scout's voice called from nearby.

"What the f-"

"BONK!" BLU Scout whacked him upside the head before his RED counterpart had the chance to finish his sentence.

"Ow! The heck did you come fr-"

"BONK!" Another landed hit. "Too slow!"

"I'll BONK your head right off, you freakin' loser!"

BLU Scout stopped for a second, just so he could taunt. "Oh yeah? Then why don't you come and catch me?"

RED Scout snarled, the anger staining his cheeks with the same shade of colour as his team's. "Oh, I"ll catch you. Then I'll tie you up and use you as a pinata!"

"HAHA!" His doppelgänger spat back. "Yeah right, like you could. BONK! _Oh_, got you again!"

And just like a pair of cats having a hissy fit, the two Bostonians ran off with lightning speed, BLU in the lead with RED nipping at his heels. The German marched straight on, past the mess that was rapidly becoming the downfall of their entire team. He threw the Russian a glance over his shoulder and beckoned him over.

"Mach' schnell, Kamerade! We don't have much time!"

"Heavy trying! Heavy not as quick as you!"

The two retreated just in time to avoid BLU Soldier's personal touch of destruction. Out of the corner of his eye, Heavy could see that he was heading straight for the base where the rest of Team RED were trapped. Silently, he wished the rest of his comrades good luck. That Soldier had a Medigun on him, and the Russian didn't want to know _how_ he was going to use it.

"Where are we going?"

"We're looking for BLU Engineer!"

"Over here, fellas!" The Texan suddenly popped up from a bush, signalling them over with a big and friendly wave of his arm.

"Oh, gut. You're here." Medic slowed to a halt, but before they could exchange pleasantries, Heavy inexplicably launched himself into the air and on-top of Engi and Medic. Their screams and cries of confusion were quickly muffled by the Russian's weight.

"What was that for?!"

"Ya gotta give a warning before you do that to a man!"

"Shh!" He hissed sharply. The sounds of running footsteps followed suit, and all immediately made sense.

"MEDIC!" RED Demo could be heard from outside the bushes, his feet staggering with every step he took. "I've already lost me eye, I don' need ta lose me leg, too! Medic! Where are you?!"

"Sorry, buddy. It don't look like he's here." BLU Engi ducked his head even more, as if to conceal himself to the best of his ability from the RED Texan, who appeared to be supporting the Scot's bodyweight.

"This is getting' us noo-where! I told ye we'd get there faster if we blasted off me bombs!"

"That ain't gonna do ya good, Demo."

"Look, I'll _show_ ye, alright?!"

"No, Demo. No stickies. Let's just get you to his office, mmkay?"

"Verdammt!" Medic suddenly whispered to himself, eyes widening in fear.

"What is problem?" Heavy murmured back worriedly.

"If zhey are going to wait by my office, we cannot get BLU Engi there safely."

"Uh oh, that'll be a problem." Engi joined in.

"What are we going to do?!"

Heavy peeked an eye out from the foliage when he thought it was safe. "Guys, coast is clear." He hauled himself up and out from the bushes, then offered a hand to the other two.

"Thank you kindly!" The Texan chirped, grabbing the Russian's arm and re-emerging from the plant-life. "Y'alright, Doc?"

"What are we going to do?!" Was all the German could manage in response.

"Doctor!" Heavy seized Medic by the shoulders, giving him a good shake to bring him back down to earth. "Calm down. Is not the end. I know we can think of something. Right?" He threw a look to Engi, trying to get him to chime in accord.

"Uh... Y-" He looked a little confused as to what he was agreeing to. "Yyyy-Yes, we can! Where there's a will, there's a way! It's what my mother taught me!"

"My mother say if you are awake and feel no pain, you are not alive. It is Russian way."

"That's..." The Texan's brows slanted. "Actually... kind of depressing. Sorry, buddy."

"You Russians..." Medic shook his head, reminded of yesterday's discussion, earning himself another scowl from Heavy. "You Russians are so... so lovely." The German plastered on the brightest grin he could.

Engi coughed to suppress his laugh. At least now the Kraut was calm again. "Alright, boys. Chop chop! We have an office to get to and the 'porter ain't gonna build itself!"

"What about other Demo and Engineer?"

"We have no time to worry." Heavy insisted. "But we'll think of something, da?"

MissMarvelous13 


End file.
